


Team Bonding

by diacetylmorphine



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Friends, Gender-neutral Reader, Multi, Name-Calling, Spoilers, Stargazing, Subtext, i made Johnny a tsundere sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diacetylmorphine/pseuds/diacetylmorphine
Summary: You know that in order to have any kind of positive relationship with Johnny, you actively have to be an architect that's willing to build it - even if he isn't.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Reader, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	1. A Fool in the Desert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi um i just wanted to write Johnny stuff because i love him i have bad taste i'm aware
> 
> this is just gonna be little snippets of you two building a ~relationship~, i'll leave it up to you to figure out how i mean that
> 
> and this is dedicated to my friend Alex who enables me <3 love you homie

When the dust (sort of) settled and things became a (little) less tense between you and Johnny, it occurred to you very quickly that it would be on you to make any kind of positive relationship happen. It was obvious from the beginning that on his end, there would be no positive input unless prompted, and he was clearly content with popping into your head, insulting you, and waiting for time to work its magic and let him take over. To a degree, you could not blame him; after all, if you were in that same position, you would probably want to be the captain of the ship known as your body, although you figured you would be much less aggressive about the matter. 

You also knew that you had to make things progress. It was clear that you were running out of time, and fast. You were a fool in the desert, and he was the blazing sun - killing you not with malice (although you can't help but wonder), but by sheer existence. There wasn't a lot of time to spend slowly building a relationship and trying to prod him without being more direct and playing the strings.

The idea that came to you was simple: head into the Badlands, where not much was, and stargaze. And then wait.

After all, most of your time was spent either actually doing things or sleeping. You figured that if there was an extended period of willful peace and silence, it would perhaps prompt him to try to speak to you more genuinely, or at least maybe try to have a conversation with you instead of rudely dismissing you in a way that made it clear you were little more than the means to an end for him. So you got on Jackie's Arch (yes, it was technically yours now, but every time you got on it you felt a twinge like a knife twisting between two ribs from the pain of the memories and you were afraid that the feeling would never go away) and made your way down the long, winding roads, feeling the air become cleaner and the constant noise of Night City slowly fade into the background the further you went out, deep into the southern portion of the area.

The air smelt of dust and sand, but it was completely silent - not even the faintest cries or gunshots could be heard. It was exactly what you were looking for. 

The moment you got off the motorcycle and felt your feet sink into the sand ever-so-slightly, you began to search for someplace to rest your body that wasn’t sand - getting it out of your shoes would be painful enough, much less your whole body - and winded up taking an arduous trek. A subtle panic crept over you from the more primal parts of your brain that you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere to sit and that you might actually become lost, but you crushed it down for the sake of your mission.

By the time you finally found a decent rock to rest on, your legs were _very_ tired and you swore to God there was sand in your mouth. Slowly, you climbed on, feeling your hands scrape and press against the sharp edges and awkward changes in elevation before you finally contorted and maneuvered yourself onto the rock and sat, only a _little_ uncomfortable.

Then, it was mostly staring and waiting. A sense of wonder came over you as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing more and more stars slowly glittering in the sky, making their own patterns, a stark contrast to the constant disconnect from nature felt in Night City. It was almost meditative - the entirety of the city, it seemed, had forgotten that they, too, were truly _animals,_ and that they were connected by nature, and that the natural processes of the body, now corrupted and forgotten, existed no matter what one tried to do. Absentmindedly, you were dragging your fingertips across the rock, feeling the cold, sharp edges press against your fingertips with almost enough pressure to hurt.

There was no other sound but the wind and shifting sands. Occasionally you had to remind yourself to look around and make sure nothing potentially dangerous would happen - after all, this was a land where a moment of vulnerability would mean that you would be chewed up and spit out faster than you could process that anyone had even noticed you were there. Of course, you knew the time was rapidly approaching where you _wouldn’t_ be anywhere anymore.

“Don’t tell me you’re into weird hippie bullshit, too,” Johnny says, and you practically jump out of your skin, still adapting to the concept of him appearing whenever he wanted. “You’re idiotic enough as it is.” You bite your cheek to choke down an impulse retort, since this whole escapade was your olive branch. Turning to look at him, you see he’s leaning against the rock, not even looking at you. You wonder if he still has his sunglasses on at night, and if he does, well - how fucking ridiculous does he get?

“No, I’m not, but I appreciate your concern,” you reply, adjusting a little bit in your “seat”, feet just barely scraping against the sand. “I’m just stargazing. You ever do that?”

“ _Tch,”_ he replies, finally looking in your direction for the first time since the conversation began, and you were amused to see he was _not_ wearing his sunglasses. “I don’t need to look at the stars to feel better about my life or whatever stupid fuckin’ reason.” His hand (the real one) rests on his hip while he looks around, taking in the scene of what seemed to be miles of empty desert. “Is that why you’re here? Trying to feel better about your sad little life?”

You look at him again, and there’s a moment of silence as he looks back. “No, I’m not _contemplating_ or _meditating_ or anything that qualifies as ‘hippie bullshit’, or at least I think so.” Glancing down at your hands, you eventually intertwine them and squeeze them together before looking up at the sky again. “It’s just nice to see the stars. All the lights in the city make them invisible, but out here, they’re pretty much endless.” Anxiety pulses through you for a moment and you chew your cheek again.

“The fuck is _up_ with you?”

“What?” The curiosity in your voice is the most sincere you’ve been with him up to this point.

“You’re always so fucking jittery, like something is freaking you out. Calm down for once in your life,” he responds cooly, taking a few steps away from you and the rock. He glitches in your vision a bit while he does so, and it’s jarring to see that the sand doesn’t respond. You know he isn’t physically _there,_ but little reminders like that throw you off guard more than they should.

“I’m trying to relax, but I’ve got this, uh, headache.” The grin is audible in your words as you shift your legs uncomfortably across the rock again. Johnny’s ever-so-thought-out response is to simply flip you off; you return the gesture. A solid minute of silence passes where neither of you says anything to each other, as you both stare off into the distance, and you begin to wonder why he hasn’t left. But the fact that he's still around boosts your confidence, so you decide to persist.

“Come on, isn’t it just a _little_ nice to see the stars?” You lean on your hand in his direction and try to ignore the discomfort from a sharp, jagged edge pressing into the palm of your hand and all you can do is hope it doesn’t bleed.

“I’m sorry if I’m not the type to like looking at and thinking about at things that fucking megacorps have taken from us,” is his only response, clearly on-edge thinking about it. 

You can’t stop yourself from letting out a disappointed sigh. “Johnny… you’re still on this?”

“ _Yes,_ I am, goddammit!” His voice is so loud that you nearly jump, but you steel yourself and keep it together - on the outside, at least. You know he feels the anxiety you do, and you wonder if pushing on with this will make you look better or worse in your eyes. You decide to take the plunge.

“You’re the only person who’s still interested in fighting this war.” Licking your lips, you look down at your hands again, still clasped together. “Everyone has moved on. I already told you this, but you keep holding on to it.” Your voice is trembling a little when you say it, fearing that your attempt at olive branching is being destroyed. But when you give it a little more thought, even if he hates you more, you realize you’re doing him a favor. If the worst happens - and as of right now, even though it hasn’t been long, things already look pretty bleak - you refuse to have man occupying your corpse and fighting a war that’s been over for far, far too long. So you push it.

“Do you just need something to fight against?”

“I don’t _need_ something to fight against, I’m fighting against something that _needs_ to be fucking fought.” The irritation in his voice grows stronger with every single word. His hands clench as he looks at you and you instinctively look away. It makes you feel like a coward. Deep down, you just might be. It takes a moment to regather your strength, but when you do, you have to take a deep breath before you speak again.

“There isn’t anything left to fight, Johnny.” The tone in your voice is soft, gentle, almost a little too gentle, to the point of condescension. And yet, you’re completely sincere about it, and you hope he can be aware of that.

“ _Yes, there is!”_ He slams his metal hand against the rock and you swear to God he somehow produces noise from the impact. “You don’t fucking see it because you’re just another fucking useful idiot. These people-” he throws his arms up in the air, and has a glare in his eyes like you’re the worst person he’s ever seen - “have fucking taken everything, and they’re going for our souls, and the proof is all around you, yet you pretend that it’s all _okay_ and that those bastards _haven’t_ managed to fucking obliterate everything!” His jaw is clenched and he’s pacing, back and forth, a visual target for you in the darkened landscape and endless sand. 

“I already explained this shit to you, and you just don’t fucking get it because you’re so goddamned _stupid_ you deny the most obvious shit.” He’s not looking at you anymore, instead looking at the sand, hands still clenched into tight fists. The complete silence on your part makes you wonder if he hates you even more for not responding, and you glance around again, a quick scan to make sure your “argument” (ultimately you just sitting there) won’t be interrupted, somehow. You shut your eyes for a moment, trying to think of some kind of response that he might actually listen to, but it’s pointless. You’re well aware that it would be arguing against a brick wall. Instead, you take an alternate route.

“Johnny,” you start, shifting again, looking at him with as much intent and focus as you can muster. “I have a question for you.”

“What.” It’s little more than a frustrated growl, his back turned to you again.

“When… when you attacked Arasaka and they were wheeling you out and everything - were you proud?”

“The fuck do you think? Of course I was,” pride obvious in his words. “I was willing to go out there and fucking fight, while everyone else just sat there and did jack shit. I did what _needed_ to be done. Fuck yeah, I was proud…”

It rather interests you, the way he makes it sound like it was only him and the pure hatred pumping through his veins instead of a rather coordinated effort. Even his brain remembered his “friends” fighting alongside him, so he clearly didn’t have an entirely self-serving recollection of the event, yet he acts like it was solely his doing. His fists are still clenched and you ask the next question before you can really process it.

“Even when you found out you killed that woman’s father?”

There’s silence on his end, and you smile internally, knowing you finally did something that _mattered._ Of all the things you’ve said and done so far, this was the one that finally gave a solid shock to the system.

“I didn’t…” he starts, glancing around and even making eye contact with you for a moment - you can’t tell what emotion is in his eyes - before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck.”

You glance up at the stars again, seeing them in their endless sea. By the time you look back to see Johnny, he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this chapter is me lowkey making fun of Johnny's obsession with Arasaka
> 
> bc come on dude could drop his fuckin bag of Doritos and he'd immediately be like "Ȧ̶͕̘̇̊̉ͅR̷̯͊A̷̧͙̱͆͌̋S̴̥͌Ạ̵̬̦̉K̷̨̘̪̯͋̎̂͌Ạ̵͉̣̗̏̈́͋͠"


	2. Animal Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this is like the awkward middle child chapter. i know it is not A+ work but please enjoy it anyway w this dumb tsundere bitch

Time pressed on. You and Johnny’s relationship had progressed from an eternal argument to an awkward, unnatural, yet genuine stalemate. You had tried to get along with him as best you could, and it seemed to be paying off, albeit _very_ slowly. It wasn’t like you could spontaneously have amazing conversations with him, but at least he didn’t seem to actively hate you as much as he used to (or maybe he _did_ still hate you and just gave up the ghost). Either way, it worked - it was better than hating each other, after all.

As this went on, however, your physical symptoms got so severe that you could hardly keep yourself together. It logically followed. You were a ticking time bomb that happened to be a strange interpretation of Schrödinger’s cat, and it was inevitable that the physical ramifications of your predicament would creep and seep into your life until the point you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Usually, during these “episodes”, you could somehow either remain upright and look “normal” long enough for it to end or manage to get yourself to a more private (for a certain value of “private”) space and express the full depths of the pain and discomfort that you were feeling. 

This wouldn’t last forever, and you knew that.

So when the time inevitably came where you began to get so sick you couldn’t control it anymore, you weren’t too surprised, but this did not make you any less afraid - even though if prompted, there’s a chance you would lie and say you weren’t, the deep, downright _existential_ fear you felt was so overwhelming and overpowering there was no way you could sincerely lie to yourself that and think it wasn’t frightening. To your credit, you tried to keep a brave face, but anyone with an attentive enough eye could see right through the facade.

When it hits, it’s like a tidal wave - all of a sudden it feels like every trace of life is being painfully squeezed from you. It feels like your ribs are cracking, squeezing against your lungs so tightly you can’t breathe and your vision is so distorted that you feel as if you’re going blind. Feeble wheezes and gasps leave you as your legs give out completely, and you vaguely register the feeling of your flesh slamming against the pavement. You begin to worry about people seeing and staring or even worse trying to _help_ , because how are you supposed to explain this-

"Is _that_ what you're fucking worried about?" Johnny runs towards you and immediately crouches to your level as you try to say something in response, but only produce more pathetic wheezes. Fuzz completely clouds your vision as you finally manage to choke out a single, desperate word: "Help."

"Okay, okay," he responds, "I got you." His metal hand is on your back, trying to support you as best he can - can he actually lift you, somehow? His other hand is squarely against your chest and it feels so strangely intimate. It's not clear if you want to resist his touch or get much, much more of it. Another strangled, especially weak wheeze leaves you and your vision is just clear enough to register genuine concern on his face. Eventually, you stop any resistance on your end and slowly begin to fade into unconsciousness. 

"Goddammit, you can't go fucking leaving me now…"

* * *

When you wake up, you're in your bed, neatly tucked in. When you try to get up, your body protests; it feels like a jolt of electricity that forces you back into lying down again. A feeling of slight helplessness pangs in your chest, and it only serves as a reminder of the shitty situation you were in. As much as you would deny it, you _were_ rather helpless. Not that you’d ever admit it.

"Rest," Johnny says, seemingly out of nowhere and making you jump and your body feels the little electric shock again. "You need it." He sits in his usual wide stance in a shitty plastic chair you bought God knows how long ago. His glasses are on, but he turns his head to look out the window, exuding his usual, "I-don't-give-a-fuck" attitude. It takes a moment for you to process what happened, and when you do, a mixture of fear and appreciation washes over you.

"You took over and brought me here."

"I did." He shifts in his seat. "The fuck was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, let me die?" You awkwardly try to adjust in bed, putting pillows behind you so you can sit up a little bit more. It sort-of works.

"I'm not going to do that. I've already fuckin' told you." There's a hidden edge to his words, something unsaid. 

A moment passes where neither of you says anything, and you try to think of a response, but nothing sounds… right. Perhaps there were no words to adequately describe the feelings you had - it was a mixture of confusion (despite his horrific attitude, he seemed sincere about letting you live) and gratitude, mixed with something else you can't, or don't _want_ to, identify.

"Thank you." The words come out of you a tiny, hushed whisper, quieter than you intended.

"Yeah." He clearly glances around the room a bit, but you can't figure out exactly what he looks at, if he's avoiding looking at you, or if he's looking directly at you. Your energy goes into breathing for a minute, eyes shut, just feeling the air enter and leave your lungs. It manages to be a genuine surprise when you open your eyes and see he's still there, and it (probably) shows on your face.

"What? I can't sit here?"

"You can't, actually." It takes conscious thought to suppress your grin.

"Fuck you."

Clenching your fists, you suppress a laugh. His response made you realize this is an opportunity to have a little fun.

"Okay, Robert."

For a second, he doesn't say anything and seems to just stare at you.

" _Never_ call me that." This time, you can't stop yourself from laughing. It hurts, but you keep pushing it.

"Whatever you say, Bob." The sentence barely comes out because of your childish giggling, and you realize how fun it is to ever-so-slightly wind him up.

"I should've just let you die."

"That's harsh."

"It's not."

Another little laugh escapes your lips and you look at the ceiling. Admittedly, you want to keep this going, more than anything else, because there's a genuine attachment between you two forming, albeit to your chagrin. Perhaps a one-sided attachment. But an attachment nonetheless. Making an executive decision, you decide to spit out whatever you can to keep things going.

"I saw a cat around here," you mumble. "I kind of want to take it in."

"Then do it. Do you think you need to get my fucking permission or something?"

Sucking in a deep breath to avoid becoming too irritated and feel a stinging deep inside of your chest, you can't resist the urge to glare at him a little. "I want them to be safe, I guess. Make sure they don't get hurt."

"I know what you mean," he responds, lighting a cigarette. He takes a drag before continuing, "I have to sit back and constantly hope you don't get yourself killed with your endless, shitty stupidity."

Hearing those words come out of him feels _wrong,_ somehow, as if he shouldn’t have said it or you shouldn’t have listened to him. Things get quiet again and you absentmindedly rub your fingers over your wrist before you begin to talk again.

"Johnny?"

"What?" His tone gives away that he's feeling tense about something.

"I hope you know I really am thankful."

"Yeah, I know." He takes another drag, and you observe him a little bit - the way he sits, the way his muscles move, the way his jaw is set. It goes on a little too long.

"You doing that for any particular reason, or you just can't help yourself from staring?"

"I got lost in thought for a second. Jesus, Johnny. Not everything is _about_ you.” The last part is softer, your voice shaking a little bit. It’s not clear to you why it feels harder to say than it normally would.

“I know it isn’t. Not anymore.”

“Well, what’s it all about now?”

He doesn’t respond, but stops all movement and leans forward in his chair, and you can somehow feel his stare through his sunglasses. It’s uncomfortable but at the same time, you want him to keep staring and making you feel _seen._

For all his rudeness and bluster, this is... nice. This _thing_ \- there’s not really a word to qualify it properly - is growing on you, and fast. It feels as if you’re becoming more reliant on his presence to make you feel anchored, grounded, _connected_ to what’s happening, despite the chaos that your life has become. 

There's a desperate need to keep the conversation going brewing inside you, and you try to think of anything to say - anything to get him to stay here just a little longer and not leave you alone, yet draw a blank.

"I'm not going anywhere."

The words comfort you, for the smallest moment, a lifeboat in the ocean, a little flickering lightbulb in a dark room, a small solace. He leaves shortly after, and all of a sudden you're alone, and a part of you needs him more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um i hope you all liked it <3 shoutout to my discord homies they inspire me... this fic is a work of love


End file.
